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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659246">Used Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan'>Janekfan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA prompt fics [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caretaking, Crying, Exhaustion, Gen, Overworking, Sleep, Tears, imposter syndrome, tired</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: extremely busy with much longer work hours, sometimes needing to find a place to hide so i can plop down and pass out for a few minutes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood &amp; Sasha James &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>TMA prompt fics [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>289</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Used Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For my wonderful and amazing child &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3 </p><p>I love you!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon lifted his head, groggy and sore, from the surface of his messy desk, a spare post it stuck to his cheek. He blinked hard, rubbing the sleep from his stinging, burning eyes and peeled away the paper to slip it back into the folder. Ever since his <i>promotion</i> he’d been burning the candle at both ends in an attempt to balance all of the new responsibilities despite not having any of the relevant experience. Sasha would have been a much better choice and for the life of him, Jon couldn’t figure out Elias’ game. How did having a bumbling, idiot Archivist benefit him in any way? </p><p>He rubbed his temples, cursing the persistent ache. Barely getting through a statement a week already felt like running a marathon every time, leaving him exhausted and irritable and the worst part about it all was not being able to ask for help. He’d thought. Well. He’d though having Tim and Sasha accompany him would make the whole thing a little more bearable. They were friends. Friends took care of each other and they understood it wasn’t his decision, right? That he’d tried to argue his way out of it, tried to explain that he wasn’t the person for this job. </p><p>He was probably being sensitive. They had responsibilities. They were busy. </p><p>It’s not all about you, Jon.</p><p>But he was so lonely. </p><p>Tired.</p><p>And it only became worse as the weeks went on though he didn’t know how bad it had gotten until one of the library staff poked him awake at the end of one of the “K” shelves. He’d only sat down for a moment on the bottom rung of a rolling ladder. </p><p>“Mr. Sims?” </p><p>“Wah--?” So eloquent when the library assistant shook him by the shoulder out of concern. </p><p>“Can I help you find something?” They smiled. “Like the door? So that you might go home and get some rest?” </p><p>“No, no, I’m alright.” He plucked a book at random. “I was just looking for this.” They didn’t seem convinced and smiled indulgently.</p><p>“A book on kinephantoms?” And Jon drew himself up to his full, diminutive height. </p><p>“Wha--yes. Yes, or course.” Clearing his throat he turned on his heel and stalked back into the archives. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello? Tim? Um.”</p><p>“What can I do you for, boss?” Jon was exceptionally nervous and he didn’t know why but as Tim whirled around in his chair, pen flipping over his fingers, it spiked in his gut, made him sick. </p><p>“Ah yes, the, the research I asked for, l’last week.” Deep breath, be the boss, delegate and follow up. “How is it coming along?” </p><p>“Oh, yeah! The research. It’s ‘coming along.’ Should have it ready in a few days. How’s after the weekend sound?” Horrible. </p><p>If he was being honest. </p><p>“Yes, of course.” But he wasn’t. “That would be just fine, thank you, Tim.” He tucked the folder he had brought for him behind his back and left the way he came. </p><p> </p><p>“Jon?” </p><p>“Sasha?” He looked up from his reading to find her in his doorway and a cup of cold tea on the corner of his desk. When had that--? “How can I help you?” </p><p>“I just had some questions regarding what you needed for that last statement.” Disappointment flooded his tongue with salt. His instructions must have been lacking. He’d have to try better this second time. </p><p>It took the rest of the afternoon and Jon, having already worked through lunch, was feeling light headed from lack of sleep and food by the time Sasha was ready to start her research. She. She couldn’t, wouldn’t? Pretend? Not to know would she? All her questions, she was more suited to this job than he was. </p><p>No. He was being paranoid. He was just tired. </p><p>Disorienting pain lanced through his chin, echoing through his jaw and into his skull and he groaned. He’d fallen asleep propped up on his arm and paid the price for it with a bruised and throbbing face. </p><p> </p><p>“Jon?” </p><p>Go’way.</p><p>“Jon?” </p><p>Lemme sleep.</p><p>“Jon?” </p><p>“Mmartin?” With difficulty, he was able to pry his eyes open, blinking away the cobwebs, the dust clinging to his lashes. </p><p>“What are you doing down here?” Martin was pulling him to his feet and Jon wanted nothing more than to curl back up and drift away. </p><p>“Was looking for--oh?” It was in his hand and he lifted it as evidence. “This?” </p><p>“You look exhausted.” Automatically Jon was denying it despite knowing the shadows beneath his eyes were like bruises, shaking his head and backing away without even enough stale air in his body to say the right words until he left Martin behind. </p><p> </p><p>It was just a stupid, silly mistake. Nothing tragic or irreversible or cataclysmic, he just dropped a box of organized and neatly filed statements. Just dropped a box representing hours and hours of time and research and missed meals and lost sleep and proof of his incompetence and before he knew it he was on his knees amidst the papers and ink and photos and notes and it was all. Too. Much. </p><p>He didn’t even notice the tears at first, not until they hit his hands and he cried more of them in his frustration, wiping them angrily away and only ending up with his face buried in his folded knees because he was just. So. Tired. Jon didn’t know how long he sat there in the hallway, arms tucked around himself and holding all his pieces together, but it was long enough that someone came upon him and he hurried about tidying the pages and stuffing them back into envelopes. </p><p>“Boss?” Jon scrubbed his face, turning around with his most dictatorial expression. It wouldn’t do for him to see out how terrible he was at this. How awful.</p><p>“Ah, just dropped some files. I’ve got it.”</p><p>“Have you been--?”</p><p>“No! No.” He began to gather the mess faster, jamming statements into folders, into files, all out of order because if he stayed here any longer under his scrutiny he would end up sobbing. </p><p>“Do you need some help?” </p><p>“No.” Biting and cold. Drive him away. </p><p>“Jon.” </p><p>“No, I. I just can’t, I’ll get the hang of it. I just need to work harder.” </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>“I’m just. I’m. I’m tired...that’s all.” It didn’t sound convincing to him, let alone to his subordinate. Not to Tim who’d known him before this whole fiasco. He stood, box in hand and staggered into the wall when the hallway tilted sideways, caught by Tim before he could go down again. Defeated, he let him take the statements. Let him leave it on the floor and lead him away.</p><p>“Oi, boss. When’s the last time you ate anything?” His hands were trembling in Tim’s and when he went to pull them away, the man held fast, drew him into an awkward hug. </p><p>“Oh...uh. I, I can’t, I suppose I can’t remember.” Caught, exposed, Jon let his face fall into Tim’s chest. </p><p>“Okay, okay, let’s get you taken care of.” </p><p> </p><p>Suffering Martin’s fussing and fretting, while he didn’t understand it, wasn’t as intolerable as usual. He’d taken one look at Jon and wrapped him up in his well-worn cardigan and sat him at the rickety table with a cup of tea and orders to drink it. With his second mug he handed Jon a packet of biscuits and, not able to escape while sandwiched annoyingly (comfortingly) between Tim and Sasha, he had no choice but to nibble on them. After his third, Sasha tapped his shoulder to get his attention. </p><p>“I want to apologize, Jon. I wasn’t doing anything to make this any easier on you.” </p><p>“No, you’ve. You’ve been helpful and--” He was horrified that she would think his own shortcomings were any fault of her own. </p><p>“Not as helpful as we could have been, boss.” Jon looked between them so quickly it set his head to spinning. “We’re much better at research than we’ve led you to believe.”</p><p>“It was frustrating.” </p><p>“I’m s’sorry.” </p><p>“Not because of you.” He allowed Sasha to tug his head down to her shoulder. “We should have noticed you were running yourself ragged cleaning up after us.” Delightfully cozy and warm, Jon was dozing off and she chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s get you tucked in. We can make it up to you after your nap.” Jon tried to resist, tried to rattle off all the work he still had left to do but all that came out of his fickle mouth were mumbling, sleepy, embarrassing noises. They set him up on the ratty break room couch and it was the most comfortable he’d been in ages. If he could just manage a coherent sentence…but the pillow was so soft beneath his aching head, the blanket Martin was settling over his shoulders just heavy enough and he tried one more time to say anything at all when Martin lifted the glasses off his face and folded them aside. </p><p>“Mhm, of course, yes, boss, whatever you say boss.” Sasha’s fingers running through his hair were his final undoing and between one gentle touch and the next, he let himself go.</p>
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